If Fate Hadn't Intervened
by JeanieBeanie33
Summary: A look at what might have happened to Cutler Beckett, if fate hadn't intervened. CB&OFC, but you could also imagine the woman as a female version of Jack.


**If Fate Hadn't Intervened**

The night was hot, almost unbearably hot, but going well. Perhaps it had to do with rum, ale, or wine being in the hand of everyone present, sometimes literally, and the talk being loud, but pleasant. The people gathered danced and conversed freely, telling jokes and flirting, producing a welcome atmosphere.

And yet, Jean found herself slipping away from the crowd to a secluded balcony at the back. Usually the belle of the ball, the center of a crowd of admirers and friends and amiable acquaintances, she instead wished for some fresh air and a brief respite from it all.

It wasn't until after she closed the door and turned to view the sprawling harbor the balcony faced that she realized she was not alone.

The man had tensed briefly, fearing his solitude would be disturbed, but relaxed when Jean smiled and nodded at him. The man – not much older than a boy, really, she realized, perhaps a year or two older than her brother – nodded back in relieved understanding, knowing the silence would not become cluttered with mindless chatter. Both looked out to the sea in companionable silence, but at the same time studied each other as much as their discrete manners would allow.

The young man was a little shorter than her, with curly blond locks and pale sapphires for eyes that reflected the moon, and a pale complexion showing he had not been in India for long. His face still retained its roundness some Englishman didn't ever lose, but there was no denying he was a handsome man. He did not strike Jean as the frivolous or social type, despite the cleanliness and elaborate clothes he wore, which made her wonder why he was here.

She, too, was cross-examined. From what Cutler could see she was quite pretty, beautiful even, with long, wavy raven hair hanging loose and skin that was tan, almost too tan. Prominent cheek bones, a bow-shaped mouth, a strong jaw, and a nose that belonged on the face of a Greek statue completed the image that she did not come from any one place in the world. She reminded him of someone, though Cutler didn't know whom, which made him wonder why he hadn't seen her before – her black-and-maroon dress, cut in the latest style, made it obvious that she came from the same middle-to-high class circle as Cutler.

Had he voiced his question aloud, I can say with absolute confidence that she would have jokingly replied, "Maybe it's not mine."

He never asked for her name, and she did not ask for his. Eventually, with a small smile and a wink, the woman – girl, really, looking to be twenty at the very most – rejoined the party and left Cutler to his thoughts.

Oddly, he felt just a bit lonely when she left, and so after a few moments (for propriety's sake) he himself left. It was just as well: he saw a giggling girl and boy go out onto the balcony a little while later (he didn't see them for the rest of the night). He refused to let himself look for the girl, and, with nothing to amuse him, left early even for his standards.

Jean looked for the mysterious young gentleman toward the end of the evening, figuring that's when he'd be forced to leave his sanctuary, but he must have left already or was still hiding away. She felt it would ruin their shared moment if she went to try and talk to him and so disappointment momentarily marred her enjoyment at being unable to ensnare him in a dance or even a conversation.

At the next gathering he was invited to – a Christmas ball – Cutler found himself accepting the request. Considering the spirit of the season had never been something that embodied him like other fools, and the hosts were not of tremendous importance or worth, this decision surprised even him. Yet, something inside him successfully managed to get him to not send in a last minute excuse, because maybe _she_ would be there.

He was not the only being whose breast was manifested with the small spark of hope that could not be quelled, because maybe, Jean wished, she would see him there. And maybe, because of that hope, she spent a little more time in front of the mirror getting ready, since he might take notice.

Despite the little hope dragging him there, it did allow Cutler to slip out the door. He was pleasantly surprised when less than half an hour later, she sidled up beside him in the same maroon dress, a little closer than before but not enough to the point of being brash.

Jean also stayed a little longer than before, and once again she gave him a smile and a little wink that, combined with the moonlight reflecting off her hair (still loose, but even curlier), made his heart flutter a little as she silently bid adieu. He found that even the little voice in his head, which sounded very much like his father, could not stop his heart from fluttering whenever he thought of that for the rest of the night.

In the future, long after those nights (and there were a few more) had become a distant memory, if you were in a position that guaranteed you would take it to the grave, he might have said he enjoyed their few moments of secrecy. And maybe, before fate intervened, she might have later admitted to slipping away for a few minutes purely to see him. And maybe, if they'd known that, things would've turned out differently. Maybe she would've stayed the girl in the maroon dress with moonlight in her hair, and maybe he would've stayed the curly-haired young man with hope in his heart…if fate hadn't intervened.


End file.
